‘How did she die, if you don’t mind me asking?’ said Strike, though he already knew.
‘She drowned, off Cromer beach. She was epileptic. She ’ad a fit. We was swimming back to the beach, racin’ each other. I looked round when it was shallow enough, and I fort I’d won, but… she’d disappeared.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Strike, ‘that sounds extremely traumatic. How old were you?’
‘Seven. But that bloody Kevin guy, on the phone…’e wanted me to say my father drowned ’er.’
Abigail drained her glass before saying forcefully,
‘’S not true. My farver wasn’ even in the water when it ’appened, ’e was buying ice cream. He come sprintin’ back when ’e ’eard me screamin’. ’E an’ anuvver man dragged Mum back onto the sand. Dad tried to give her mouf-to-mouf, but it was too late.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Strike again.
‘When Pirbright said Dad killed ’er… it was like ’e was taking somefing… it’s about the only good fing I’ve ever ’ad to ’old onto, from before Chapman Farm, that they loved each ovver, an’ if I ’aven’t got that, then it’s all shit, you know?’
‘Yes,’ said Strike, who’d had to work so hard to hold onto the good in his memories of his own mother, ‘I do.’
‘Pirbright kept sayin’, “’E killed her, didn’ ’e? ’E did, didn’ ’e?” An’ I was saying, “No, ’e fuckin’ didn’” an’ I ended up telling ’im to fuck off and I ’ung up. It shook me right up, ’im finding me and ringing me at work,’ said Abigail, with an air of faint surprise at her own reaction. ‘I ’ad a couple of really bad days, after.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ said Strike.
‘’E said ’e’d been dropped by ’is publisher. Seemed to fink, if I give ’im enough gory details, ’e’d be able to get another deal. You’ve read ’is book, ’ave you?’
‘There isn’t one,’ said Strike.
‘What?’ said Abigail, frowning. ‘Was ’e lying?’
‘No, but his laptop was stolen, presumably by his killer.’
‘Oh… yeah. I ’ad the police call me, after ’e got shot. They’d found the station number in ’is room. I didn’ understand at first. I fort ’e’d shot ’imself. ’E sounded weird on the phone. Unstable. Then I seen in the paper ’e was dealing drugs.’
‘That’s what the police think,’ said Strike.
‘It’s ev’rywhere,’ said Abigail. ‘That’s the on’y fing the UHC gets right, no drugs. I’ve dragged enough junkies outta shitholes they set on fire by accident, I should know.’
She glanced around. Baz was still standing at the bar.
‘I’ll get it,’ said Strike.
‘Oh. Cheers,’ she said, surprised.
When Strike returned with a fresh glass of wine, she thanked him, then said,
‘So ’ow d’you know abou’ these allegations ’e made about the church, if there was no book?’
‘Pirbright was emailing our client. D’you mind if I take notes?’
‘No,’ she said, but she looked edgy as he drew out his notebook.
‘I just want to make one thing clear,’ said Strike. ‘I believe your mother’s death was an accident. I’m only asking the following questions to make sure I’ve covered everything. Was there a life insurance policy on her?’
‘No. We was broke after she died. She was always the one wiv the steady job.’
‘What did she do?’
‘Anyfing – worked in shops, did a bit of cleaning. We moved around a lot.’
‘Did your parents own property?’
‘No, we always rented.’
‘Couldn’t either of your parents’ families have helped out, financially?’ asked Strike, remembering the old Harrovian background.
‘My farver’s parents emigrated to Souf Africa. ’E didn’ get on wiv ’em. Probably ’cause they sent ’im to ’Arrow, but ’e turned out a grifter. I fink ’e used to weasel bits of money out of ’em, but they got sick of ’im.’
‘Was he ever employed?’
‘Not properly. There was a few dodgy schemes, get-rich-quick stuff. It was all gettin’ by on the accent and the charm. I remember a luxury car business what went bust.’
‘And your mother’s family?’
‘Workin’ class. Skint. My muvver was very pretty but I fink my farver’s family fort she was rough – probably annuver reason they didn’ approve. She was a dancer when they met.’
Well aware that the word ‘dancer’ might not necessarily imply the Royal Ballet, Strike chose not to enquire further.
‘How soon after your mother died did your father take you to Chapman Farm?’
‘Coupla monfs, I fink.’
‘What made him move there, d’you know?’
‘Cheap place to live.’ Abigail swigged more wine. ‘Off the grid. ’Ide from ’is debts. An’ it was a group wiv a power whatsit at the top… vacuum… you know abou’ that? Abou’ the people ’oo was at Chapman Farm, before the church started?’
‘Yeah,’ said Strike, ‘I do.’
‘I only found ou’ after I left. There was still a few of ’em there, when we arrived. My farver got rid of anyone ’e didn’t want, but ’e kept people ’oo’d be useful.’
‘Took charge immediately, did he?’
‘Oh yeah,’ said Abigail, unsmiling. ‘If ’e’d been a businessman or somefing… but that was too ordinary for ’im. But ’e knew ’ow to make people wanna do fings, an’ ’e was good at spotting talent. ’E kept the creepy old guy ’oo said ’e was a doctor, an’ this couple ’oo knew ’ow to run the farm, an’ there was this guy called Alex Graves, ’oo my farver kept because ’is family was rich. An’ Mazu, of course,’ said Abigail, with contempt. ‘’E kept ’er. The police shouldn’ of let any of ’em stay behind,’ she added fiercely, before taking another large gulp of wine. ‘It’s like cancer. You’ve gotta cut the ’ole fing out, or you’ll jus’ be back where you started. Sometimes, you get sumfing worse.’
She’d already drunk most of her second glass of wine.
‘Mazu’s Malcolm Crowther’s daughter,’ she added. ‘She’s the spit of ’im.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. When I got out, I looked ’em up. An’ I found out what the ovver bruvver did, too, an’ I fort, “Ah, thass where she learned it all. ’Er uncle.”’
‘What d’you mean “learned it all”?’ asked Strike.
‘Gerald was a kids’ magician before ’e wen’ to live at the farm.’
Another memory came back to Strike at that moment, of the fatter of the two Crowther brothers showing little girls card tricks by firelight, and in that moment he felt nothing but sympathy for Abigail’s comparison of the community to cancer.
‘When you say “that’s where she learned it all”—?’
‘Slate – no, sleight, is it? – of ’and? She was good at it,’ said Abigail. ‘I’d seen magicians on the telly, I knew what she mus’ be up to, but the ovver kids fort she could really do magic. They didn’ call it magic, though. Pure spirit,’ said Abigail, her lip curling.
She glanced over her shoulder in time to see Baz leaving the pub.
‘Good,’ she said, getting up immediately. ‘Wan’ anuvver beer?’
‘No, you’re all right,’ said Strike.
When Abigail had returned with her third wine and sat down again, Strike asked,
‘How soon after you moved into Chapman Farm was your sister born?’
‘She was never born.’
Strike thought she must have misunderstood him.
‘I’m talking about when Daiyu—’
‘She wasn’ my sister,’ said Abigail. ‘She was already there when we arrived. Mazu ’ad ’er wiv Alex Graves.’
‘I thought—?’